


Tell it to My Heart

by plaidipuss (evilicious)



Category: Cyborg 009 VS Devilman, Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feels, I couldn't think of a better title, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 19:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20215417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilicious/pseuds/plaidipuss
Summary: Ryo wants a kiss. He winds up getting more than he bargained for.





	Tell it to My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> \- takes place in Devilman vs Cyborg OVA-verse, with a lot of the lore stolen from Amon (manga)  
\- for those familiar with Crybaby who haven’t read Amon, Dosu-Roku’s basically the non-rapper, manga-equivalent to the guy with the butterfly tattoos, Kakun. He’s such a bro that Satan Ryo—not human Ryo, but Satan, with all the wings and fully aware of himself, gives the dude his house key and actively spares him repeatedly during the war. I think that's just great

His efforts paid off. For the first time in any of the near hundred times Satan lived his life as Ryo, he found himself watching Akira walk down the aisle, passing pews filled with family and friends. He’d fantasized about it plenty, but he hadn’t expected this fairytale to become reality. Yet it was their wedding day, and Akira was dressed in a tuxedo—black with red accents. How befitting for him-- and beaming up at him, his smile so blindingly radiant it almost hurt to look at, but Ryo couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Right now, Akira, _his_ Akira, was the most beautiful thing Ryo had ever seen. His face was filled with unconcealed joy, but not the kind he had when he was hunting demons. This expression was softer, somehow. Purer. It was a look of contentment, excitement, and bliss, all fused into one lopsided grin. Ryo wished he could make this moment last an eternity.

Maybe then, he’d be able to delude himself into thinking that _he_ was the one Akira was marrying.

As he passed, Akira looked at him, eyes excited and nervous as he took his place at the alter. Ryo offered him a smile and a nod,

And then, all too soon, the music shifted. The church was filled with muffled “ohhs” and “ahhs” as something, presumably the bride, came into view. Ryo couldn’t care less. His gaze was far too captivated by the groom.

Akira, the gorgeous sap he was, began crying. His eyes watered and eventually spilled, tears of joy flowing over his cheeks.

For the entire ceremony, Ryo hyper-focused on Akira’s face. He noted the way the man’s mouth stayed parted for most of the ceremonial bullshit; he smiled as the groom rolled his eyes back as he recited the vows he’d insisted on memorizing rather than read. When Akira put the ring on his wife’s finger, his eyes teared up, and Ryo could feel his tearing up, too.

Then, the paster or priest or _whomever_ ran Miki’s church said the line. If this were a romance movie, it would have been Ryo’s cue to take Akira and _run_, far away where the two of them could live out their own fairytale ending.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Ryo could feel his chest tightening against the fabric of his suit, breasts and wings threatening to reveal their presence. He bit the inside of his mouth so hard it bled, but he refused to give. He’d been holding his peace all this time, he could hold on a little longer. For Akira’s sake. For Akira’s happiness. He _had_ to.

“I now pronounce these two man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

For the first time since Akira entered the room, Ryo looked away.

* * *

This was a dumb idea. Ryo was perfectly aware it was a terrible idea. He did not need Sirene eyeing him with concern to confirm how bad his idea was. Normally, she was game for anything involving sex, so he was honestly feeling a bit betrayed by how much judgment she was casting upon him.

The plan or plot or _whatever_ word best fit the situation, was relatively simply.

He’d host Akira’s bachelor party at his house, hire a stripper to perform, and, at the end of the night, the dancer would give Akira a ‘private show’ as a last horah before getting hitched. Here’s the plot twist—the stripper would be Ryo the entire time.

(Well, not _Ryo_ exactly. Satan’s female form, which he hadn’t really bothered to give another name because it was just as much ‘Ryo’ as the male form was. That being said, he hadn’t exactly _flaunted_ it around others, so Akira hadn’t seen him with tits yet.)

Sirene looked at him skeptically, so he explained.

“If I do it in the form he’s more familiar with, it may create an unnecessary strain in our relationship.”

The woman scoffed. “That isn’t really the issue.”

No, it really wasn’t, but Ryo was content to ignore her and go back to figuring out how to get out of a dress in six-inch heels without falling on his face.

This time loop, he’d discovered his true nature early on. Really early on. Usually, it took wiping out half of humanity, committing some indescribable terror, or fucking himself before his identity as Satan slapped him in the face, but Ryo had gotten lucky this time around. Akira had become Devilman the night of the Sabbath, and Ryo had returned to being Satan.

Being Satan came with some perks. Being over-powered as hell and having tits to boot? Check. The downside? He remembered _everything._

“Everything” mostly pertained to Akira smiling. Akira wielding the power of Devilman. Akira fighting—God, that was a sight to behold! The way Akira looked at him, eyes warm and honest, even when his body was covered blood and demon guts. Akira walking away. Akira dying. Akira leaving him, all alone. Akira’s dead, cold body lying unresponsive in his arms. Akira.Akira.Akira. AkiraAkiraAKIRA—

All Ryo wanted to do was throw himself into the man’s arms and love him.

But he didn’t, because, well, after recalling so many memories, he picked up on a common theme—

Every loop, every damn time the world ended, happened _after_ Ryo confessed. Most of the time his confessions caused it, but, the times he didn’t, the world just kind of imploded on itself and became a sea of natural disasters, swallowing up everything but Satan.

Some recollection and reflection led him to the conclusion that _this_ was his punishment. Not being banished to Earth and kicked out of Heaven, no Daddy Dearest had it _out _for him. His punishment was being on the end of unreciprocated affection or acting on his feelings and watching his love die over, and, over for all eternity.

Ryo loved Akira. He loved him truly and fiercely, with all his being. It wasn’t the idea of _being_ with Akira that had his heart fluttering and his pupils dilating, it was the man himself. As long as Akira was alive, well, and didn’t hate him, Ryo could be happy. No, he _would_ be happy. That’s what he told himself.

After coming to terms with this, Ryo didn’t act on his feelings for Akira, nor did he take up his position as Satan. He found Sirene and explained the Akira-Amon situation to her, half expecting her to try to kill him, only for her to be uncharacteristically sympathetic to his situation and become his closest confidant. Jenny, he ignored after informing her the war was off, too angry about her knowledge of his punishment, yet too tired to confront her about it.

And then, he slipped back into the routine of hunting demons with Akira, though he made sure to keep their relationship as something more of a closeness formed from trust and comradery than anything more _personal_. Maybe, it would have been more altruistic for him to simple kill all the demons himself instead of having Devilman do it, but, Ryo justified to himself, he couldn’t simply _undo_ Akira’s transformation, and demon-hunting was a necessity in curbing his more _demonic_ urges. Having to spend more time together was just an added bonus.

Ryo was nothing short of _angelic_ this time around; he’d say he’d earned himself this single night of acting on his feelings.

Yes, it was a bad idea. Yes, it could potentially end apocalyptically. But Satan loved Akira. He loved him so, so very much. Akira was getting married to someone else, and Ryo was genuinely joyous that the person he held so dear to his heart was getting his happy ending.

However, he was Satan and he was selfish. Not selfish enough to drench the world in hellfire, but selfish enough to dress like a stripper to get Akira alone at his bachelorette party.

It wasn’t about the sex. Ryo didn’t even care if there was sex. Sex was primal, built on the human need to reproduce.

What he wanted was something smaller, but so much more meaningful.

Before Akira was married, bonded to someone else for the remainder of his life, Ryo wanted to be kissed.

Akira’s bachelor party was nothing short of wild. Not Sabbath-level wild, he’d assured Akira, but wild nonetheless. Nothing less could be expected from a party thrown by Satan himself.

Ryo stood in the corner and admired his handywork. He had really outdone himself this time. Living alone in a spacious mansion had its perks, and one of them was having the perfect venue without having to rent one. Inside, there was a live DJ—one of Akira’s former classmates, and an open bar. The furniture had been moved to a vacant room to create a dance floor.

Normally, Ryo would be in the center of the action, busting a move with the rest of them—Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t have the energy for that. Not anymore, at least. Maybe in a past life, but in this current one, he just felt drained. For appearances’ sake, he should probably make an _effort_ to participate in the party, but when did he ever do what was expected of him?

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Dosu-Roku approached him.

Ryo took a swig of beer from a red, penis-shaped straw. “Of course. I wouldn’t have thrown the party here if I wasn’t.”

“I meant the wedding.”

The blonde groaned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to you.”

Dosu-Roku was, in roughly fifty percent of time loops, the closest thing Ryo had to a friendship outside of Akira. He was kind, understanding, and somehow, Ryo wasn’t sure how, picked up on the way he felt for Akira. That was a mixed cocktail of three things Ryo currently did not have the patience for. He plucked the straw out of his beer and downed the rest of the bottle in a single gulp.

“I’m going to bed. Gotta wake up early to clean all this shit up before the rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Ryo—”

_“Goodnight.”_

Of course, he didn’t actually go to bed.

He went to the guest room where the hired lady was getting ready before her performance.

Sirene was in her human form, wings and claws replaced by billowing white hair and a little black dress that covered just about nothing. She smelled of expensive perfume and looked at him like he was a puppy she was about to put down.

“Are you sure about this?” Sirene asked, and really, what was with people asking about his well-being tonight? He was _fine._

“Entirely,” Ryo responded.

The siren looked completely unconvinced, but instead of arguing she merely sighed.

“Go change and I’ll put on your makeup.”

The dress she’d picked out for him was far more tasteful than the one she was wearing. It was red, with an oriental collar and buckles. It went down to about mid-thigh with slits cut up and down each side and held together with elastic rope.

The undergarments were something Ryo picked out himself with Akira specifically in mind. They were black, lacy and had way too many buckles and strings. Ryo was a simple person, but he knew Akira loved his buckles and he loved his strings. Shit like shoelaces got him in knots, so he’d get a kick out of the thigh-high laced-back platformed heels the angel was currently sporting.

Once Sirene was done doing his makeup, Ryo hardly recognized himself. Herself. Whatever. Gender’s fluid.

The two of them strode into the basement, talked to the DJ and the music changed and everyone was directed off the floor.

“I can’t believe Ryo got strippers,” Akira murmured, surprise on his features.

Ryo wasn’t sure why he was surprised. They’d discussed ahead of time, with his fiancé, no less, the possibility of female entertainers being present. Miki had clearly stated she didn’t _care_, and said—paraphrasing here, “Get your practice in beforehand, because, after the wedding, you’re _mine._”

Sirene, for her part, would be entertaining the crowd with an actual, choreographed dance after Ryo ‘warmed them up’ with a number before taking Akira to the guest room for a private lapdance.

Ryo wasn’t entirely sure how warm anyone would get watching him do the bare fucking minimum required for exotic dancers (read: taking off his dress slowly, to the beat of the music), but Sirene specifically instructed him _not_ to dance because he ‘danced like a lunatic’ and none of her private lessons were able to correct that.

Apparently, the party was at the stage where the men were drunk enough to wolf whistle at _anything_, so Ryo was met with rancorous applause, a shower of dollar bills, and somebody slapped his ass before he turned his attention to Akira.

“This is your last night of freedom, huh?” the blonde leaned in all sultry-like, just the way Sirene taught him.

For a moment, a spark of something flashed in Akira’s eyes -Recognition, maybe?—before it faded entirely.

In every other loop, Akira always recognized Satan immediately, regardless of what gender or form s/he took. Maybe Ryo hadn’t gotten close enough. Maybe, he’d been too distant. The thought sparked a pang in his, presently _her_ chest.

The other men hooted and hollered, and Akira smiled apologetically on their behalf, as if he, too wasn’t half erect.

“I’m sorry, Miss…?”

“Lucifer,” she said. Shit, Sirene told Ryo not to do that, either. Sex workers were supposed to _purr. “Lucy_ for short,” she corrected.

Akira leaned his head back and snickered under his breath, fully appreciating the theme. “God dammit, Ryo.” Oh, if only he knew.

“I’m usually quite the angel,” Satan placed a knee between his legs and rested her arms on his shoulders. “But tonight, I’ll be your little devil.”

She whisked him off to the guest room prepared for this purpose, as Sirene demanded the attention of the rest of the crowd.

There was a conversation they had, something along the lines of him asking her to tell him what to do to make the experience more pleasurable for his wife on their honeymoon. Ryo was only paying half-attention and nodding at the right moments, more distracted by how the club lights hit Akira’s hair. She hadn’t really noticed before, since she’d made a point to keep her distance earlier in the night so her absence wouldn’t be obvious but now that she had… Wow. He looked _stunning._ It was almost a shame they were headed somewhere with mood lighting.

The room was practically empty save for a bed, a chair, and no doubt in her mind that very, very soon, she was going to be having sex with Akira.

For some reason, in all the planning for this night, Ryo hadn’t really dwelled on that. Sex. With Akira. Huh. She’d considered it a possibility, but it was more of just an afterthought. Now, it was a very real thing that would be happening very soon and her heart was pounding in her ears.

“May I?” Akira gestured to her state of semi-still-dressed.

“I’m yours for the evening. You can do whatever you want.”

The man practically tore her bra off by the ribbon holding it together. He pushed “Lucifer” onto the bed, sloppily suckling on one exposed nub and pinching and pulling on the other. The angel couldn’t remember the last time someone touched her breasts. Lifetimes ago, maybe. Certainly not before in _this _one. Akira turned his attention to her other nipple, coating it in a thin layer of saliva before planting a soft peck on the tips of booth teets.

But he did not kiss her, not in the traditional sense.

He ripped her black lace panties clean in half with his teeth, and pleasured her shaven entrance with his tongue while unzipping his own pants. The feeling was _immeasurable_. Satan remained a virgin in most loops and, in the ones she hadn’t, never had been eaten out like this. Over and over, Akira hit her clit and it felt like her vagina would drown with how _wet_ it’d become.

However, that talented tongue never touched Ryo’s lips.

Before sticking his massive penis inside her—and it was huge. God, it was enormous. It was intimidating in its girth and length and he asked if it was okay, shyly. Nervously. He was at least partially drunk. The babbling was cute. He was cute. It was such an endearing sight that Ryo felt she could cry. She nodded. Of course it was okay. With Akira, it was _always_ okay. He started the pace slowly, almost gently, confirming if she was alright with him going faster before speeding up. He kept asking her if it felt good.

But he never asked what she _felt._

If he had, she honestly didn’t know what she would have told him. Her nether regions felt fantastic, but, more importantly, she felt _him._ Akira. Beautiful, wonderful, kind Akira gazing down at the blonde like he was afraid she’d break as he throbbed within her. For a while now, Akira was all she thought about, all she yearned for. He was, in the metaphorical sense, everything inside her. And that feeling, coupled with the now physical presence of him _literally_ inside her? It was bliss. It was like Heaven, but without the feeling of being caged. Heaven without any of the rules, or responsibilities, or guidelines—it wasn’t God’s Heaven. It’s what Heaven would be by Satan’s design. Thoughts of Akira inside her head, love for him in her heart, and his arms around her as his hot seed filled her belly.

The only thing that would have made it better would be his warm lips touching her own.

Akira bashfully asked if they could go again but in a different position. He stripped off his clothes, and, by the time his shirt was fully removed, he was seated and fully erect with Ryo on his lap.

If only she was also in his heart.

As the blonde bounced on his lap, Akira tugged on her breasts and littered her shoulder and neck with bite marks.

Ryo wished he’d used less teeth and gone a few inches higher.

By the end of the hour, Ryo was so full her stomach visibly protruded outwards. She looked like she’d eaten a whale. She ached liked she’d been hit by a truck. The was a terrifying amount of semen in her womb, and it sloshed around like someone shaking a bottle of soda.

Jesus Fucking Christ. Akira had finished inside of her _thirteen times._

He hadn’t kissed her once.

Even with his monstrous stamina, Akira eventually wore himself out. A polite thank you for her services passed his lips before he passed out.

The sight was a familiar one. Ryo chuckled, more than used to having to deal with a naked, unconscious Akira. At least this time didn’t require him carrying him out of a forest.

Somehow, hair sticking in every direction and flushed skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Akira looked innocent. His mouth parted slightly as his chest rose and fell, perfect lips parted and tempting.

She leaned in, so close she could taste his breath and stopped. _No._

Ryo scooped her discarded clothing off the floor and _fled_ as best she could with the heavy limp.

Downstairs, the party had, miraculously de-escalated and it seemed everyone but the DJ had gone home. She’d need to thank Dosu-Roku for that. Later, after she slept for maybe a year or two.

The ex-angel dragged herself to her own bedroom, not giving a fuck whether or not she was just _imagining_ sperm dripping out of her crotch, or if she was actually leaving a trail behind her. Eh, whatever. Nothing really mattered besides falling into her bed, though it wound up being a lot closer to a _trip_. In the privacy of her own room, behind her locked door, she allowed herself the comfort of being in her--_his _true form.

The fallen angel fell asleep, sprawled out on the bed and blanketed in nothing but wings. His previously pure and untainted body was bloated and full, yet he couldn’t think of a time he felt more hallow.


End file.
